Thousands of people she would never know, worlds she would never learn about, faces that might have been friends, blades that might have been crossed. Some of those caskets contained zombie faces, dead before they knew anything at all about Stacy, about their Universes. Arha stood, leaning into the wall, somber as she watched launch after launch.

Death came and left its mark upon each and every one of them in different ways. For Arha, it reminded her of her own death, and water rings listing on a chain in the desert wind. She shifted as voices came and went and the crowd hummed. This was a time for memory and reflection, though she had not really met many and their water could not be reclaimed.

She stayed, propped up against the wall, solemnly watching the caskets float and burn.